No Other Options
by xxliveforever17xx
Summary: When Andy is left with nowhere to go after breaking it off with Luke, she has to accept the fact that the only person she has left to go to is the one person who's been there all along.
1. Chapter 1

_Hi everyone! So the ending of 'Bad Moon Rising' just about sent me off the deep end, and it looks like from the promo that next week's episode is going to have me reaching for any weapon that will put me out of my misery. My only consolation is the clip that shows Luke and Jo getting it on outside a motel room, and I just have to keep reminding myself to keep my bitterness down, and what better way to get my bitterness to go away than to write a story with a bitter Andy?_

_This story takes place the day after Andy finds out about Luke's cheating. I don't know how it's going to play out on the show, but if I were one of the writers for RB, I'd have the whole issue go just like this._

_Anyways, I hope you all enjoy! And please, pretty please, review. I love getting them, I really do. They make the hurt of being an unsatisfied McSwarek fan go away temporarily, plus I want to find out if my bitterness has impaired my writing at all. Because it's completely possible that it has.  
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><p>All day, the only thing that kept Andy McNally from completely breaking down into a giant puddle of tears was the thought of the large white porcelain bath tub that awaited her, filled with rose oil and an exorbitant amount of bubbles that she could disappear in and never come out of.<p>

Of course, at the end of the day, when it was time to go home and slip into the blissful oblivion she so desperately needed, she realized that she _couldn't_ go home. Because it wasn't her home anymore; it wasn't _their_ home anymore.

She had given her own home up five months ago, and by "given up" she meant gave the keys back to the actual owner, signing over her rental papers so that Mr. Mitchell could find another tenant for the apartment she had resided in for all of ten months.

A month and four days ago was when Luke had proposed to her. Of course she had said yes, it would have been implausible and incredibly stupid not to accept. Now, thirty-four days later, she was regretting that decision to permanently move out of her apartment so much. So, so, so much.

It had been bad enough today on patrol when Sam had innocently, with just a touch of animosity, asked if she had picked out her wedding dress yet. She had told him, curtly and without any emotion, that the wedding, the engagement, and the whole relationship, was off. When he asked why, she proceeded to use language that she was now ashamed of. Actually, she was ashamed of _not_ feeling ashamed, because quite frankly, it had felt rather good when she had described Detective Rosati as a 'blond bimbo with no respect for the monogamy of a relationship.'

Actually, 'blond bimbo' wasn't what she had used. Her choice of words had included a colorful variety consisting entirely of four letters. And when Sam had had the gall to smile, _smile_ at the news, she had hit him. Hard. Albeit, in the shoulder, but it was better than slapping him across the face, which would have definitely made him crash the cruiser, instead of merely causing him to swerve. He had agreed to her rather threatening plea to not talk about the topic any more, and they had proceeded to have a wonderful conversation about absolutely nothing.

There was no place she could go. Traci was out of town for the weekend visiting her mother in her new nursing home, so not only was her house out of the question, she didn't even _know_ about the broken engagement, since her phone had been unceremoniously dumped by Leo in his cereal yesterday morning.

Dov and Chris' place was also out of the question. If it had just been the two boys, then she would have been over there in a heartbeat, and they would have been throwing darts at Luke's picture right alongside her. Unfortunately, Gail was also currently residing at the Epstein-Diaz home, and there was no way in hell that she was going to talk about her break-up with the queen of perfect lives.

Noelle, absolutely not. Oliver, she wouldn't even dream of asking him. A motel room was the worst option of all, because if she had to be alone tonight, after the morning from hell she had just been through, there was a good chance the TV electrical cord wouldn't just be used for watching soap opera reruns.

Sam had offered his place after overhearing one of her many voice mails to Traci (in the hopes that somehow a miracle would occur and the phone would work so her best friend could tell her where the new place for the spare key was, for she had had to change the locks after breaking it off with Leo's dad) and she had momentarily been touched by his sincere attempts at trying to help, no matter how awkward the exchange, and her refusal, had been.

But now, standing in the women's locker room, completely and utterly alone, she realized she had no other options. She reasoned with herself mentally, at war with the choice she had. She really didn't want a repeat of the blackout, and she was in the same emotionally vulnerable state now that she was in then. On the other hand, Sam was the only one she could actually see helping her. Truth be told, he was the only one she _wanted_ to help her. It wasn't like he hadn't been there before for her, because he had. Every single time she needed him, he was there. So why should this be any different?

Gathering her things, she took a staggered breath that hurt a lot more than it should have emotionally wise, and, entering the men's locker rooms, was faced with a delicious looking Sam.

He was shirtless, his dark hair still wet from the shower, his jeans slung low yet snug. A small part of her mind told her that shouldn't even be possible. Apparently it was.

"Did you really mean what you said?" she asked, blurting out the words before he could voice the surprise that was written plainly across his face at the sight of her.

"About what?"

"About having a place for me to stay tonight."

"Yeah. I did mean it."

An awkward pause followed, with her fidgeting on the spot and him standing as still as a corpse.

"You want to stay at my place tonight?" he asked, his voice huskier than she had ever heard it. Or maybe that was just her out of whack, extremely frayed emotions talking.

"Yeah. I mean, I wouldn't impose if I didn't have any other options. And I don't. At all."

"McNally, give me two minutes. I'll meet you by my truck."

"Okay." She hesitated briefly before leaving the room. Had it really come to this? Had her life really become so out of control that she had to turn to her former, sometimes, not-really lover for refuge after leaving her fiancee?

_Lover? Really? Not the best choice of words. It was a one time deal, and you guys barely even made it to second base._ She made sure to quickly clamp down on any and all images from the night of the blackout.

Exactly two minutes later, Sam exited the building and, after opening the passenger door for her (a gesture that Luke had never done) promptly sped away from the infernal place that was 15th. It wasn't that the place itself was bad. It was just the people that were. Really, only two people.

"Not that I don't like having you as company, McNally, but why can't you go home?"

"When Luke and I bought the place, it was really only Luke that bought it. My name's not on the deed, therefore, now that we're broken up, I no longer have any claim on the house."

"That was stupid."

"Yeah. Yeah it was." It should have struck her as strange to not be on the deed to the house as well when they were drawing up the plans, but then again, she had been so giddily happy at the prospect of playing house with her very own Prince Charming that he could have made her sign a million dollar life insurance policy naming him as the sole beneficiary and she would have obliged with a smile on her face.

"That's a lesson for the future."

"You mean the next time I shack up with a man, I should make sure the house we're buying has my name on it as well? Duly noted."

The silence that followed lasted until they got to Sam's place. Once again, he opened the door for her to get out of the truck, and once again, she was struck by how odd and gentlemanly the gesture was.

"So, bathroom's here, guest bedroom is here - "

"I know the way around your house, Sam."

"Actually, just around my bedroom, but I was trying to avoid that awkward piece of information." His attempt at a joke was met by a stony glare. "Too soon?"

"Yes, Sam, too soon." Despite her growling, she allowed him to give her the rest of the tour, which ended in the guest bedroom.

"I'll make up the bed for you. There is an extra toothbrush under the sink, it's new, and I'm pretty sure I have some female clothes you can wear tomorrow so no one talks about you showing up in the same outfit."

"What, you still holding onto feelings for Monica in the form of her garments?"

"The clothes are Sarah's. She keeps some over here for whenever she stays."

"Oh." Another awkward pause ensued. She wanted to apologize, but instead just asked if she could help him, and, when he refused, watched him make up the bed for her.

"You hungry?" he asked, straightening up from tucking the corners of the quilt under the mattress.

"Not really."

"You thirsty? I have a couple beers."

"Yeah. I'll take one. Or four." She didn't really understand why he laughed at that statement, since she was being completely serious. They sat at his kitchen table, the doorway leading out to the hallway allowing her eyes direct visibility to his bedroom, a line of sight she most definitely did not want to see at the moment.

"There are two rules that need to be followed in anything said from now on," Sam said, placing a beer in front of her. "One, you have to stop thanking me. You've just about exhausted every variation of the standard 'thank you'."

"I have?" She was surprised. She didn't remember saying thanks more than twice. Then again, she probably had had mini blackouts from anger and betrayal on the way over to his house.

"Yeah. And rule number two, there will be absolutely no mention of Callaghan or Rosati. And especially not wedding dresses."

"I can definitely follow that rule."

"Good. Now, have I ever told you about the time I shot Oliver in the ass?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello everyone! So I kind of churned this out at a ridiculous speed because a) I promised everyone who asked a sequel, and b) I have a feeling we're all going to be needing some McSwarek love right before, during, and after this dreadful upcoming episode in T minus four hours (for us west coast watchers...it's T minus one hour for you east coasters). _

_So I hope you all enjoy this somewhat, and remember, please review! I really do appreciate them and I'll be needing some happy things to read after Landy tonight. Gah._

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><p>Sam knew he had picked the right topic of conversation when Andy's eyes regained some of that mischievous glint he loved so much.<p>

"You did _not_ shoot Oliver." Her incredulous statement was followed by a cheeky grin from her partner.

"Final day of the Academy, after we all had graduated. Oliver, the smart bastard, had been first in the class, and it was tradition back then for the person graduating first to treat the whole class to a round of paintball."

"Paintball?"

"Paintball. At Sgt. Platter's. Anyways, we were on opposite teams, and there was this massive barricade that his team had commandeered, but what Ollie didn't realize was there was a concealed perch that allowed access to a sliver of the barricade. So there I was, stomach down on this perch, paintball gun honed in on the opening, when a figure stepped right in my line of vision."

"You didn't."

"I did. I pulled that trigger four times, and hit him square in the ass. His yell was so high it could only be heard by dogs. He couldn't sit down without pain for about two weeks. And the best part was, our first day on the beat was three days after graduation, just enough time for the muscles to really feel the burn. And guess who was his extremely non-sympathetic training officer?"

"Who?"

"Boyko."

The uncontrollable laughter didn't die down until several minutes later, with Andy wiping tears from her eyes.

"I haven't laughed this hard in forever," she said between intermittent giggles.

"I know. It's nice. Laughter is the best medicine for a heartache."

"Hey, no mention of that, remember?" She stuck her tongue out at him, wrinkling her nose.

"Immaturity is a sign of drunkenness."

"I've only had one beer."

"Then you're a bigger lightweight than I thought. You're lucky I'm such a gentleman to not take advantage of you."

"You're a gentleman, are you?"

"Absolutely. I'm letting you stay here, aren't I?"

"Ah, so it's not out of friendship, but rather an old-fashioned obligation."

"Don't put words in my mouth, _buddy._"

She wrinkled her nose at him again, motioning for another beer. With an exaggerated huff, he slid a bottle across the table. "Consider this the last call."

"Yes, sir." It should have been weirder, sitting here, alone, with Sam, in his house, halfway to being drunk. But it wasn't, surprisingly. It was...comforting. Ever since she had moved in with...that detective, and _especially_ since their engagement, her and Sam's already murky relationship had gone from flirty banter to tense, unspoken words. But now it was back to normal, whatever normal was. Maybe it was the buzz she was developing from the alcohol, or maybe it was something else, but she decided to ask the question that had been bugging her ever since their conversation after Best had announced her engagement.

"When you asked me if I was pregnant, did I look like it?" It was Sam's turn to choke on his drink.

"Yes, McNally, because the first thing anyone thinks when they see your toned figure is that you have a baby growing inside you."

"I'm hoping that was sarcasm."

"It was."

"Okay. Okay, good," she said, smiling tentatively. She wasn't sure if she should be flattered by his description, but she was. And there it was again, that damned shy smile of his! It was the same one he had given her when he gave her and Peck their phones (with cameras!) during the undercover operation at the club. It had made her want to hug him then, and now, it made her want to jump his bones, not even thirty-six hours after breaking up with her fiancée.

She needed to stop drinking.

"You tired?" he asked as she unsuccessfully stifled a yawn.

"No. Kind of. Yeah."

"Let's get you into bed, then." He stumbled slightly as she looked at him oddly from his choice of words. "I mean...you know what I mean."

"It's like 'I have no problem taking it off' all over again," she said with a smirk.

"Ha. Very funny." He walked around the table, and helped her up with an extended hand (again, she noticed how chivalrous Sam was...it was an altogether foreign concept to her). Her eyes rose to meet his in thanks, but the words died on her lips as she saw something skitter across his face, an expression equal parts mournful, angry...and something else she couldn't quite pinpoint. Still holding her hand in his, he pulled her forward slightly, and for a fearful second she thought he was going to kiss her.

Instead, his lips touched her forehead, a gesture so quick yet so emotionally packed she didn't know what to make of it.

"It's going to be okay, McNally," he murmured, brushing her bangs back from her face. "It really is."

Shit, she was crying again.


End file.
